


Celebrity

by lalejandra



Category: Full House (US) RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cocaine, Gen, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-16
Updated: 2005-11-16
Packaged: 2019-07-14 11:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra
Summary: "I'm not an alcoholic," she informs him. "I'm a Hollywood traditionalist."





	Celebrity

**Author's Note:**

> This all started, like so many things do, because of [Kovsky](http://www.livejournal.com/users/annakovsky). You can read the comment thread [here](http://www.livejournal.com/users/annakovsky/153631.html?thread=4741663#t4741663).

It's her 17th birthday, and Ashley is off flirting with boys, which Mary-Kate is so not interested in. They invited John, and Dave, and Bob, but only John came, and he looks weird, kind of shaky, and she goes up to him with a martini in one hand (for her, because she likes the way they look, kind of old-school sophisticated), and a Tom Collins in the other (for him, because it seems like the kind of thing he'd drink -- that Elvis love wasn't all Uncle Jesse).

He grins at her happily and takes the drink. "Heya," he says, and she wonders if he doesn't use her name because he still can't tell her and Ashley apart.

She settles for saying, "Hey." And then: "Ashley blew me off, so I --"

"Thought you'd come comfort the old loser?" But he's still grinning at her, so she settles down beside him on the couch. His arm falls around her, and he kisses her cheek, and she presses against him.

It seems weird that she's known him all her life, and for part of that time, it was, like, his job to change her diapers.

"I'm sorry about you and Becky," she says quietly, and puts her hand on his knee, smoothing his jeans.

"Kid, you got the wrong decade." He squeezes her, and his hands are shaking, just a little, which makes her nervous for him.

"No, I mean -- Becky. Your wife."

"Becky was Uncle Jesse's wife," he tells her, and now she knows he's just being an asshole.

"Don't be an asshole," she says, and hits him on the chest, turns her face away, sips her martini. It tastes like alcohol -- gross, but kind of comforting. Some things don't change.

It's weird to sit there with him, and when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, she wants to follow him. She doesn't want to talk to any of these jerks; they all came just to laugh at her and Ashley, drink their booze, score some weed laced with something, probably. Who knows? She doesn't, and she doesn't care.

She tosses back the last of her fourth martini, and makes her way -- steadily -- through the crowd, smiling and laughing and accepting "Happy Birthday"s until she reaches the stairs, and then the bathroom. She knocks before she goes in, but only briefly.

What was she expecting to see? A glimpse of Johnny's dick in his hand? Him getting a blow job from some overzealous actor-wannabe waiter?

He's bent over the counter top, snorting coke. Her brain is paralyzed.

He stands up and rolls his eyes at her. "Close the door, Mary-Kate," he says, and she does, locks it, and he holds out the straw he was using. A rolled up dollar bill -- no, a rolled up twenty.

"Fucking cliche," she sighs. She reaches for it and misjudges the distance, and it falls, unrolls a little.

He bends and picks it up. "Nice mouth," he says as he rolls it back up, tightly. "Especially coming from an alcoholic child star."

"I'm not an alcoholic," she informs him. "I'm a Hollywood traditionalist." But she's never done blow -- or heroin. Heroin is for rock stars, anyway. Coke is a Hollywood drug. But...

She takes the twenty, this time her fingers closing steadily on it, and pushes in front of Johnny. Their hips touch, and she feels a jolt through the layer of gin, and he holds her waist when she bends over, and he bends over her, his breath hot on her neck and ear.

Mary-Kate is careful not to disturb the neat rows of white powder. He coaches her through it -- "Take a deep breath, let it out, start closer to you and move toward the mirror, go steady --"

Behind her, his body is warm and still, still, still shaking, like he drank seven pots of coffee, and the coke burns her nose and tastes bittersweet in her throat, and he's so warm behind her, so warm, and in the mirror when she raises her head, his eyes are bright.

  



End file.
